Thunderstruck
by Big Bad Wolfy
Summary: Written for The Prince and The Heiress's Plot Bunny Challenge: write a story based on a favorite song. I chose AC/DC's Thunderstruck with influence by Marty Robbins's El Paso. I'm on a wild west kick, here is another BxV western for ya that isn't drabble. Not connected to my other western drabbles. Mentions of real historical events keeps this fic from feeling too light-hearted.


This submission is for The Prince and The Heiress Google Community's Plot Bunny Challenge. First Challenge was to write a story based on a favorite song. My submission is based on the AC/DC song Thunderstruck with definite influence by Marty Robbins's El Paso. I'm on a real wild west kick, so here is another BxV western for ya that isn't drabble. Speaking of those this story does not connect with the other story, nor the larger project I want write in the future. There's dash of GoChi in this one. Mentions of real historical events keeps this fic from feeling too light-hearted, well, that and gun play, and cussing, and mentions of prostitutes.

This is part one of possibly four parts. I'll try not to let this one distract me from Thieves, Pirates and Cotton Candy Dreams.

The song played in the cantina is called "What Will We Do With a Drunken Sailor." I love the version by the Irish Rovers, but I've used my own custom lyrics to suit my needs. Go give it a listen on You Tube. It's a fun ditty.

And one more thing, this has not been beta-ed. There may be mistakes in there still. I had some issues with italics. There is usage of Mexican Spanish. If any native speakers out there catch glaring mistakes feel free to let me know.

.

* * *

.

"Bulma." Chichi called, thrusting a tray of beers into the arms of the blue-haired beauty in flowing skirts. "Now is not the time to fall asleep on the job. _Ahora_! Take these drinks to those dirty _vaqueros_ in the corner, _rapido_!"

Chichi's dark eyes flashed with impatience; her olive cheeks were flush from working in the kitchen, a sheen of sweat gave her a sultry glow and loose strands of shining black hair framed her cheeks rounding out the disheveled looked that drew in hordes of dusty cowhands and _banditos_ from miles around.

Bulma shook away the day dream she had been having and grabbed the tray that her employer and friend had shoved at her. Effortlessly slipping into a silky glide she made her way to the corner table where a group of grubby Mexican _caballeros_ played poker. She flashed a shameless grin as she set the frothy beers on the table. Her skirts rustled noisily and her heavy perfume might have been powerful enough to punched the nearest man in the nose had his sense of smell not been deadened by the thick miasma of male sweat and whiskey pouring out his _compadres_ pores.

"Drink up boys," Bulma said. She winked and twirled away but was yanked back suddenly when the burliest _vaquero_ snaked his fleshy arm around her cinched waist and hauled her into his lap.

An involuntary chill ran over her skin, filling her with dread but she stamped the feeling down as she steel her expression into one of annoyance.

The burly beast slurred at her, " _Oy, muñeca_ , if you keep shaking those _maracas_ at me like that little Jorge is going to become Jorge _Gordito_. _Besame ahorita cariño mio_ , and I will tell him to wait until later."

Without preamble Bulma elbowed Jorge proper in his generous gut and as the brute suddenly dispelled air like a stomped bellows she wriggled free of his grasp. She whirled on him, raising her leg and stabbed her heeled boot dangerously close to his groin. Pulling back her skirts she revealed a loaded derringer pepperbox under his nose.

"Dear, Jorge, even if Rose's was that sort of establishment you could never handle a woman of my caliber." Bulma said. Then she whipped away, skirts a twister of swishing, rasping fabric, as Jorge lost his balance and crashed to the dirt floor. His _compadres_ burst into raucous fits of laughter as their drunken _amigo_ rolled like an angry upturned cow. Jorge spewed every curse he could muster in Spanish. As he struggled to sit up, his buddies called him a " _barracho estupido."_ The brute burst into laughter himself.

Bulma strode back to the bar where Chichi held out another tray.

"Don't pay any attention to those _idiotas_. You know they do that to get to you." Chichi handed the tray over to Bulma.

Bulma forced a saccharine smile. "My devoted admirers," she groused.

Chichi sighed. "The sun hasn't set," she reminded her friend. "We have a long way to go until they drink themselves into a stupor."

Bulma's smile strained against her ire. She took the tray and reminded herself why she put up with the rowdy crowds each night. Right now her father was sitting at home, probably reading the latest medical books he had ordered from the East, trying his best to ignore the fatigue and the and the fever that had been plaguing him for the past year. They had moved when her mother died, leaving most of their belonging behind. Her father had spent a large portion of his savings getting them safely across the wild frontier to the drier and more temperate desert climate in order to invigorate his health in the revitalizing and free flowing air of El Paso. She had to persevere, for him.

Oh, but her feet ached in her too tight laced-up boots and one of the whale bones in her corset kept digging into the ribs under her left breast. She ached to reach up and yank the damned thing away from her tender flesh, but patrons awaited their elixir.

"Old man Roshi," Chichi said.

"No."

" _Sí_ "

"No."

"Bulma."

"But-"

"Only your butt,'" Chichi said, "take it over there and serve the _viejo cerdo._ He has money!"

"Chichi," Bulma whined, using her friend's vulgar nickname shamelessly, "I hate you."

"You lie," Chichi twirled away, her name-sake bust bouncing behind her billowing white blouse and her colorful skirts swishing. "I pay you, better than any other place in this dusty old town and you know it!"

Bulma rolled her eyes and muttered, " _Bruja_."

" _Perra_ ," Chichi growled back at her before disappearing back into the kitchen.

Bulma laughed. They had only known each other a short time but they had hit it off right from the start. Milk Vaca was kinder than anyone Bulma had ever known. Her father was generous and just as caring. If it weren't for the Vacas, Bulma was sure she'd be working the red light streets just to make ends meet. Although the patrons of Rose's Cantina were a pain to put up with she had yet to feel threatened enough to use the pepperbox she kept strapped to her thigh.

.

.

"Just one drink, Vegeta, maybe two at the most," Radditz cajoled.

"No."

"Come on, we've been bellying in the brush for the past week. No one is following us. Freeza probably thinks we're still heading for Dodge. I ain't had a drink since San Antonio." Radditz nudged his mount closer to Vegeta's pinto gelding. "I heard this place has great food, cooked up as you order. Them vaqueros we ran into said it ain't just the warm biscuits that are worth stopping for, if you know what I mean." Radditz waggled his brows for emphasis.

Vegeta grunted, and prodded the pinto into gait just faster than Radditz's bay.

"Aw hell, Vegeta," Radditz complained. "Ain't no one following us and you know it."

Kakarot groaned as his stomach growled. Thoughts of hot, delicious food danced in his mind's eye. "Mmm, Biscuits," he muttered as his grey pony plodded along in the dark. "gravy and cracklins; posole! I haven't had _posole_ since we left Fort Sumner way back." The past few weeks' meals had been whatever varmints they could shoot, and that was mostly rabbits, prairie dog supplemented by a wild onion here and there.

Vegeta stewed in silence. His pinto snorted, picking up on his rider's agitation. Stew. His own belly let out a betraying rumble. They were down to their last batch of hardtack and had been relying on bitter chicory instead coffee ever since Radditz had forgotten to pick up a batch before they left San Antonio. The fool had been too busy burying his radish while he and Kakarot kept out of sight to avoid being recognized by anyone having known them by their association with Lt. Freeza.

His traitorous stomach growled again. In his ire Vegeta yanked the reins bit too hard and the Pinto reared to a stop.

"Alright!" Vegeta snarled. We'll go into town. We will eat, but we will be moving on as soon as the two of you have had your fill. We are almost home free! I don't want either of you two screwing this up when we are this close!"

Under the light of the half-moon the brothers, Kakarot and Radditz grinned, each visualizing their desire as their mounts plodded on past hills of mesquite and sage brush. Just ahead the Franklins rose up out of the desert, advertising their destination, El Paso.

.

.

Inside the gin palace calling itself Rose's Cantina the din of party was thick. The only thing thicker was the reek liquor and sweat with a generous dab of hair pomades, oils and perfumes vying for attention here and there.

"I hope they're still serving food," Kakarot said.

Vegeta could barely hear the younger Saiyan over the noise of rowdy men, the rink-a-tink of piano, jaunty yelps of fiddle, and clinking of glass. He barely registered what Radditz was saying as his eyes and ears were drawn to the bubbling laughter of a woman. Vegeta's gaze swept over the crowded room, coming to a sudden stop on a blue haired woman whose top was indecently low. Her soft blue tresses quivered like a cascading water fall as she laughed again at something a black haired woman said. Not noticing the black haired _senorita_ casting him a warm smile Vegeta watched as the blue haired beauty sipped from a glass, her red tinged lips kissing the amber whiskey. The sight of her pale neck stretched back, revealing delicate shoulders and pushing her chest out, caused him to falter in step like an unshod horse in bad need of a trim.

Somehow he found himself at a corner table, as he followed behind the taller brothers.

A pair of gentle hands held him by the arm and he turned sharp, eyes widening at the bold gesture. He stood as stiff as cigar statue staring into limpid nearly black eyes.

"There must be a loose nail," Said the woman, "I will be sure to tell my father about it. Have a seat. I do not recognize your faces, you must be new. Allow me to welcome you to El Paso. I am Milk"

Radditz leered as he settled his bulk into the wooden chair. Kakarot looked dumbfounded and barely managed to plant his narrow ass into the seat of the chair. The boy couldn't help but blush at the sight of the pretty woman so boldly holding onto his fellow Saiyan.

The woman steered Vegeta into a chair but Vegeta shook her off the moment his better senses reengaged. Taking the hint without insult the woman flitted to Kakarot, who she noticed wore an innocent blush and mask of befuddlement.

" _Bienvenidos_!" She purred as she closed in on the youngest boy of the trio.

Radditz grinned as he shamelessly gazed into the generous bosom of the raven haired beauty; she bounced and swayed with her every movement. His younger brother would be a damned liar if he hadn't also noticed himself, Radditz thought, not missing the look of awe on the kid's face. At 20 Radditz was no stranger to the pleasures of whores and considered himself quite adept at games of passion. Watching Kakarot, who was younger by two years, gave rise to thoughts of introducing the boy to the wonders of a woman.

After yanking himself from the blue haired woman's spell Vegeta refused to commit his gaze to a single portion of the room. He was on edge, just as hungry and weary as the other two but not yet ready to surrender his better senses to baser needs. He growled, feeling agitated, how the hell would these two fools survive without him doing all the thinking? Not to say they didn't think at all, it was just that they though with the wrong body parts. Nearly all of Radditz's cares centered just below his belt leaving his stomach to fight his card handling hands to scrabble over what was left. The boy, Kakarot, was too young to know what to do with a woman other than eat the food she put before him.

"What have you got to drink around here, little miss?" Radditz crooned, hoping to get in on canoodling the _senorita_ seemed eager to pass out like church flyers.

Chichi shot him a glance, pulling her attention away from the cute wild haired boy. She trained her visage into one of coy fascination. She sidled up to the tall man, taking his hand in a gesture of greeting. "Anything you wish," she offered.

Radditz snaked his arm around her waist but Chichi twirled away. "Anything but _that_." She winked. You are _muy guapo_ but I am a woman of virtue and this is not the part of town for that pleasure, but, I can offer you a hot meal made with genuine love."

"Love," Kakarot muttered as his eyes following the dark haired nymph. "I could use some that love."

Chichi smiled at him, and then at the taller long haired man. "That sort of love I am free to offer, if you can pay."

Ridditz reached into a pouch hanging from his belt and slammed a silver coin onto the bar top. " _Bonita_ , I'd pay for any kind hot love you have to offer with a side of beer."

Chichi snatched up the coin with viper speed and stuck it into the secret folds of her skirt. As she leaned into Kakarot feigning a kiss, she cooed, "Love you request and love I shall deliver."

Chichi whirled away in a flash of dancing colorful skirts, leaving Kakarot a blushing stunned statue.

Radditz howled in laughter, slapping his thigh. He turned to Kakarot and elbowed him. "The little _senorita_ is keen on you, little brother."

.

.

From the corner of her eye Bulma watched as Chichi had flirted and flitted around a trio of men she did not recognized. She took another sip of whiskey, anticipating another tray in her near future.

The whiskey branded a trail down her throat. The room was already swaying and the din was nothing more than muffled background noise as she surveyed the new comers. The tallest of the bunch caught her attention first. He was olive skinned, all of them were, and even from across the room she could she they were a sight more tanned than Chichi was. The tall man was a far cry from ugly; he smiled easy and laughed more than the other two. His wild black hair spilled out from under a floppy grey cavalry soldier's hat with a single large feather in it. Messy black tresses fell over the shoulders of his dusty grey coat like can of wagon axle grease that had been tipped over each shoulder. His brass buttons shone under the lamp light. In fact, all of them wore similar coats with similarly shiny brass buttons. They all had hair as dark coal and just as glossy.

The tall man elbow jabbed the younger boy to his left, again, laughing at whatever joke he might have told. The younger boy's hair stuck out wildly from under what looked to be soldier's kepi. The boy looked a little nervous and kept glancing to the kitchen door that Chichi has disappeared behind.

The tall man then nudged the small man on his right. He too appeared to be on edge but on a level different than the boy. This man seemed to be watching out for some hidden danger. Bulma was certain he was armed. She recognized on him the look of a gun man, she had seen many come into to the cantina before. He looked older than the other two, probably the same age she or close to it. His features were hawk like, his eyes hard like flint, his mouth drawn into an impatient sneer over what the tall man had said. Even from a distance she could see he was handsome, not in the classical way fancied by the society girls she used to know back East but handsome in the way of a wild animal, an untamed stallion perhaps.

Bulma gasped when the man's dark eyes caught hers. Caught she felt, as if his just looking at her had roped her like she had seen cowboys do at the stables to the mares they wished to ride. She blushed as his boldness, which was not something she normally did. Out right flirting with the men that came into the cantina was something she had come to enjoy, especially knowing that she didn't owe them anything but a wink and a smile. The barroom was hot and stuffy as it was, the heat from the dark man's gaze didn't help her any. On top of that the glass of water thinned whiskey she sipped had stoked a slow burn that began in her belly and had begun edge out to her limbs.

"Bulma, I need you to take this to that bunch of _Indios_ ," Chichi thrust her cherry lips to the trio of new comers, effectively severing the imaginary rope that held her to the stranger. "That tall one has money. I can smell it. He is the type you can pump money out of like a well once you get him drunk."

Having taken the tray she glided to the trio, steeling herself for the usual fawning she expected from the tall one. Her features melted into a practiced smile. As one of seven girls Chichi employed Bulma's duties were to make the cowboys happy enough to keep buying drinks. She made a ten cent commission for each 25 cent beer and 15 cents for every 75 cent shot of whiskey. The real money came in when men paid for dances. Some girls charged 25 cents; the most sought after girls could get away with asking for a dollar. That was a lot of money to made without having lie one's back!

.

.

As the blue haired beauty set a mug of warm frothy beer in front of him Vegeta found himself awestruck. Strands of hair had escaped her coif, framing her delicate, moon-pale face with wisps of turquoise. Her eyes were just as mesmerizing, shinning like jewels, the kind which pirates killed for, or so he had read. There were no such things as angels in his people's stories but having lived with Freeza he had been made aware of beautiful heavenly creatures. Was this blue beauty an angel?

Vegeta did not notice Radditz's sidelong glance, nor did he hear much of he said.

"By God, have I died? I'll be damned if I ain't made to heaven," Radditz proclaimed.

Bulma feigned a giggled.

Kakarot craned his neck around Bulma, hoping to catch sigh of the woman from earlier. Bulma had not failed to notice that, but her attention was drawn again to the tallest of the bunch.

"You flatter me, Mr.," she trailed off, invited him to answer.

"Radditz, ma'am, and this runt here is Kakarot, my little brother." He jabbed Kakarot with his elbow. Bulma offered them a smile and a curtsy and turned her sights to the man with the swept back, spiky hair. She smiled at him as she asked, "And you, sir?"

Vegeta's vocalization skill seemed to fail him. He had been sitting rigid with arms crossed over his chest but when the angel spoke it had been if he was pushed back by a gust.

Radditz answered for his dumbstruck superior. "That's Vegeta. Don't mind him, he don't play well with others. I don't suppose you deal cards, Ma'am?"

"I do," Bulma answered. She winked. "You may as well hand your money over now and save yourself the trouble."

Radditz laughed. "I'll take my chances." He produced another coin and tossed it to her. "keep them taps flowing and bring on the games."

Vegeta watched her as she smiled and whirled away, promising to come back with a deck of cards and another round of drinks.

When she was gone Radditz turned to the shorter Saiyan. "I'm jealous, first Kakarot and now you."

Vegeta snapped out of his stupor. "What?" he barked.

"That bar maid has got you thunderstruck under the tailbone. I could see it a mile away on foggy night."

Vegeta scowled. "Fuck you Radditz," he rasped under his breath.

Radditz feigned surprise. "you keep up that sort of talk and your pretty little girlie ain't gonna want to give you no _beso_."

Vegeta grabbed up the mug of beer and chugged until the glass was empty. He was sure his cheeks burned red at the ribbing Radditz laid out. Better to have the liquor to blame it on then Radditz's words. Neither man notice poor addle brained Kakarot nursing his beer, nor did they notice him asking when the lady with the food would return.

.

.

Late spring in the desert wasn't much different from early summer. Outside the desert had cooled after the sun had long set and the half-moon hung in the jeweled sky like a disembodied grin smiling down on the antics of mortals in the cover of night. Along the street lights shone from other saloons, gambling halls and brothels. A few streets over it was darker except for the red lamps that indicated the cribs for hire by the women who weren't pretty enough or young enough to make enough money for rent in the nicer rooms over the gin houses.

The cantina was heaving with drunken bodies all warmed up with alcohol and dancing. The noise never let up. A pair of Irish brothers kept spirits up singing and playing their instruments, weaving a continuous boisterous live soundtrack for the various amounts of sin being committed in the room. At one point an argument broke out between two cowboys over who got the next dance with pretty red-head but the cantankerous drunks had been escorted out by a bear of man with a black beard before anything serious could take place.

"Well, I'll be damned." Radditz said, laying his cards on the table, "You done beat me again."

Bulma grinned "I hope I haven't depleted you of all your funds," she said, raking in the bills.

"There's more where that came from." Radditz promised her. "Another round and make it whiskey."

Vegeta barely paid his hand any mind. Food and the continuous flow of alcohol relaxed him, yet he still kept watch over the general goings on. Unlike Radditz he had noticed Kakarot had taken leave of the table and was now sitting at the bar, closer to the kitchen he had said, and was still shoveling food down his gullet as fast as it was brought out to him.

The blue woman commanded the remainder of his attention, though he had yet to say anything to her. It was not lost on him that she periodically glanced at him as she flirted with Radditz. He was awed by her beauty and wanted to let her know but fear of looking foolish stayed his tongue.

Radditz was a never ending river of laughter, not to mention money. That irritated Vegeta, making him wish he hadn't given him such a large share of the loot he had taken from Freeza. Both he and Kakarot had hardly spent any of theirs. Vegeta grit his teeth in annoyance. Another thing that fed his ire was the way the taller Saiyan looked at the woman, Bulma.

Thoughts of telling off Radditz edged into his conscious when of a sudden a weight deposited upon his lap.

Bulma's flushed cheeks filled his view and her perfume was fog that wrapped around him like thick wool blanket; it was just as intoxicating as the three glasses of beer he had drunk. The woman set three glass of whiskey on the table. One she pushed towards Radditz, another she pushed to the empty spot belonging to Kakarot and the last she held out for him.

It was as if the air were sucked away from him. 'You dunder-head!' Vegeta admonished himself, 'You're acting like a green hand all too ready to choke the horn!'

Bulma pushed the ambered glass into his hand and purred, "you are far too tense Mr. Vegeta. Have a drink."

The Saiyan took the glass and imbibed a generous swallow, hoping it would supply enough of a shock to oust him from his dumbstruck state. When Bulma reached her hand around his and brought the glass to her own lips he blushed fiercely, the heat raced right up to his ears and straight down into his shirt collar. And it didn't stop there. That heat kept running like a stampeding heard until it reached the dead end of a box canyon. That box canyon being centered right in the front of his pants, not far from where she had taken her seat. Her deep blue eyes met his, never breaking contact as she sipped from the same glass he had just imbibed from.

Off to his side Vegeta vaguely register the sounds of Radditz choking.

There wasn't much that could bring the long haired Saiyan to embarrassment but seeing the blue hair slattern drink from the same glass as Vegeta caused him discomfort. He felt uneasy as he if he were watching something he should not have been, but at the same time, deep down, he was kind of enthralled by the idea of watching something so sinful.

The liquor suddenly hit him like the crash of the great grey ocean on the shores in Savannah, as he seen when he served under Lt. Freeza. Vegeta's vision swam, the sounds of the piano, the clamor of conversation flooded his ear, rushing like a river, noisy, beating his brain in waves, knocking every sensible logical thought to the way side in a foamy frothy mire. Finally, the dam holding back his tongue broke. Bringing the glass of whiskey to his lips again, he spoke, looking her boldly in the eye, "Woman, you are glass of cool water, and I am a man dying of thirst."

.

.

Bulma had coaxed Vegeta out on to the dance floor to Radditz's great surprise. He was left at the table alone, nursing a beer and shuffling cards, muttering to himself, "I'll be damned." At the bar Kakarot had finished eating and was talking with the raven haired girl, who had delegated serving duties to another woman in her employ so that that she could focus on Kakarot.

"I _will_ be damned." Radditz said, cards riffling. He watched as Bulma led Vegeta in time to what sounded like an up-beat sea song the Irish brothers pounded out on piano and fiddle.

Over the hullabaloo of drunks the Irish boys started to sing, "What shall we do with a drunken cowboy? What shall we do with a drunken cowboy? What shall we do with a drunken cowboy? Early in the mornin'?"

Bulma bounced and bobbed, leading Vegeta around like a hesitant and spooked horse. _By golly_ , Radditz thought, if the man had ears like a horse they'd be twitching and swiveling madly.

As the Irish brothers sang on, many of the drunks began joining in adding their off tune shouts to the lyrics they seemed to recognize. "Hoo-ray and up she rises, hoo-ray and up she rises, hoo-ray and up she rises, early in the mornin'.

"Chuck him on a broom tail till he's sober, chuck him on a broom tail till he's sober, chuck him on a broom tail till he's sober, early in the mornin'."

As the fiddler's bow danced a jig across the strings, Vegeta seemed to loosen up a little, his heavy Army issued boots clomping a little too close to Bulma's more delicate kid boots every now and then, but she remained one step ahead, shuffling out of the way just in time.

Vegeta leaned into her and shouted over the noise, "I can't dance."

Seemed a bit late for such an admission Bulma thought; she laughed, "Relax and stop thinking about it so much. Just have fun." Vegeta wasn't even sure he knew how to have fun, as he let her lead him on.

The boys kept singing, joined now by another playing spoons to the tune. On they sang as the spoons went _clackity clacking, clackety clacking_ , "Chuck him on a broom tail and make him whale her, chuck him on a broom tail and make him whale her, chuck him on a broom tail and make him whale her, early in the mornin'."

Whiskey had turned his brain into a sloshing mess with a texture similar to horse piss mud. That wasn't any good as he needed every bit of brain power to concentrate on not tripping over his own spurs; with that in mind he scaled back his stomps into shuffles.

Bulma continued to lead him in a jaunty hop. She whirled away from him, dipping into a bow and he mimicked her. Without thinking he reached out, wanting her near him again; her eyes went wide when he pulled her in like yanking in a roped calf to be branded. She thumped into him and he reached his free arm around her cinched waist. Despite being as stiff as man trying to avoid an angry beehive Vegeta took the lead this time. Bulma bubbled in laughter, the sound making him smile too.

So intoxicated by liquor and dance and laughter he leaned and kissed her.

.

.

Vegeta's head throbbed like a dozen blacksmiths were hammering all at once in his skull. Shivering as the chill of the early summer dawn nipped him he pulled a scratchy wool saddle blanket over his shoulders. Bits of straw poked him through his thin cotton shirt.

"Damn it all," he mumble, rolling into a more comfortable position; hay crunched under him. Off a ways her heard horses nickering to each other and recognized Turnip. Somehow during the night he had found his way to the stables and apparently had made an empty stall his bed. Slivers of dusty light leaked through the spaces in the wall, letting him know that the sun had risen quite a few hours ago. Vegeta stretched out, his boots striking the wall and making his spurs jingle. He rooted around looking for his grey coat and found he had been using it as a pillow.

He belched, enshrouding himself in a miasma of staled whiskey, somewhere a horse snorted in reply as if affronted by the vulgar greeting.

Groaning, Vegeta sat up. As much as he wanted to continue sleeping he knew he had to get up find Radditz and Kakarot. Taking in the surrounding smells he scented something out of place among the musty leather tack, straw and horse shit. It was the heavily floral bouquet of a woman's perfume.

Flashes of rouge cheeks and blue hair danced in his minds eye. Dance! His eyes went wide at the memory of what he had done last night in the noisy saloon. He was dancing and fuddled out of his mind with corn juice. He scolded himself for slipping in his usual careful manner. He might have vowed he'd never do it again but that would have been a lie, for he was certain if he got in the vicinity of that calico clad angel again he'd be in danger of becoming a chuckle-headed clod again, and he definitely wanted to see her again, before they left, that is.

Vegeta pushed himself to his feet, dusting of as much of the straw as he could and trying to shake off the stiffness imbued in him by the morning chill. Before leaving the stable yard he rinsed his face in the horse trough and tried to tame his messy black spikes before donning his grey cavalry hat; it was better taken care of and thus crisper than Radditz's.

Speaking of that devil, Vegeta thought, he was probably holed up in some seedy crib with a cheap whore. No finer woman of the night would have a filthy Saiyan. Hunting down Kakarot probably wouldn't be too hard either. He was probably stuffing as much breakfast as he could in to his maw before the last stretch of travel before they made back to the _Mal Pais_ , or as his people called it in their language "the land of the blood of slain beasts."

.

.

"You what?" Chi gasped, clutching the glass she was polishing, close to her chest.

"I didn't do anything, Chi!" Bulma said.

"So you say."

"I just helped him to where he wanted to go!" Bulma said.

"Oh, really, and just where did he want to go?" Chichi accused. "If customers begin thinking we hand out favors like biscuits I'll never be able to walk into the general store or the post office without some old marm looking at me sideways."

Bulma stamped her foot. "How could you not believe me Chi? The man could barely stand what was I supposed to do, leave him to crawl out into the alley? The other two he was with were long gone."

Chichi glanced away from Bulma, feeling guilty. Maybe she might have had small hand in that. As Bulma danced with the mean looking _hombre_ she had sat at the bar talking with the boy, Kakarot. He ate his fill of her food and complimented every bite causing her to swell with pride and soften her armor against the usual flattery from the cowboys. Unlike his _compadres_ the boy did not drink as much. He grew sleepy. That was when Chichi offered to lay out a pallet in the larder room. "Golly," Kakarot had said, "You're as nice as you are pretty." Chichi blushed at the memory.

"I sat with him until it looked like he'd be just fine." Bulma went on. "After that I went home."

Chichi looked contrite. "I'm sorry," she said. "I shouldn't have thrown such accusations when I'm guilty of putting my own reputation at risk. I let Goku sleep in the pantry. I can't imagine how it looked for me to be leading the boy out the back door like that."

"Goku?" Bulma asked, "I thought his name was Kakarot?"

"It is. I just think Goku sounds sweeter," Chichi said, putting away polished glasses. "When we talked last night he told me Saiyans often have more than one name. When he was a baby he was called Goku. He said it means 'full of empty air.'"

"That's an odd name."

Chichi giggled. "He said it was because he cried a lot as a child."

At that revelation Bulma couldn't help but smile.

"He's already gone. He wasn't there when I checked this morning."

"I guess they were just drifters," Bulma said, looking toward the front door. Too bad. She kind of wanted to see Vegeta again. Bulma wondered what sort name Vegeta might have had in childhood. He hadn't been big on talking until he had been properly loosened up with beer and whiskey. His purse strings had also come undone; she racked up pretty penny last night from his buying dances and drink, for himself as well as her. Bulma felt a little guilty now for keeping the money for her drinks and coming back with tea instead of whiskey for herself.

.

.

During the day Vegeta had found Kakarot at an eatery. No surprise. After a meal they went to look for Radditz. He was passed out in a dingey crib along the back alley lines. The whore was eager to see him out as the drunken Saiyan would be putting a damper on her business if he didn't vacate. In the harsh light of the afternoon Vegeta noticed the whore was far older than any of the women in the cantina last night. Her dress was frayed at the seams and when the satin sheened in the sun he could see where tears had been hands stitched. She had dark circles under her eyes and was a thin as a rail, as if she didn't get enough to eat. Vegeta couldn't help but feel bad for her.

Vegeta and Kakarot dragged Radditz back to the livery and set him up in a dark corner of the barn. They carefully propped him on his side in case he became sick while still unconscious.

"Your fool brother may be the death of us if he doesn't sober up quick." Vegeta had said.

Kakarot felt embarrassed for Radditz. He had felt embarrassed ever since they dragged him away from the dirty little shanty in the ugly side town. He felt shamed when he had help yank the older man's pants back up to waist and buckle up his belt. Then he had seen Radditz's buckle up close; it was a rectangular brass stamped with the letter C.S. While Kakarot didn't know enough letters to read he remembered what the C and S stood for: Confederate States. He was then reminded why his brother had started drinking.

It seemed like ages ago when they were children living in the land west of the Mal Pais. His memory of his parents was misty, like he was looking back into the past through a fog. Life in the Saiyan village seemed like a dream rather than reality. Vegeta and Radditz remembered more of what it was like. They were older and had been comfortable in the life they lived then, especially Vegeta, since he was the son of the tribe's chief. After the kidnapping, Radditz and Vegeta had gotten the three of them into constant trouble over trying to run away when they worked for the Mexican ranchers they had been sold to far east of the foot of Mount Taylor, a mountain he was told that his people considered holy.

Kakarot thought back to when Radditz had started drinking. It was after they had a made a successful get away. They made it as far as Fort Sumner when they were caught in cold snow storm. Had it not been for Freeza the boys might have not made it. At the time they were weak and thin from having little too eat for too long.

It had proven a lot harder to escape from the Fort, but Freeza didn't seem to mind forgiving the boys. When Freeza allowed them more food and had allotted them clothing and kindness the boys found it harder to find motivation to leave. Under Freeza they learned to ride in an American saddle and to shoot American guns. Radditz and Vegeta had proven to be better trackers than any in the fort and they taught the skill to Kakarot. When Freeza asked them help scout out renegade bands of Navajo and Apache the boys were eager to have a hand in subduing their old enemies. And when the big war in the East broke out and Freeza was called back to his Georgia home to fight the boys went too.

For the next three years they saw more blood and depravity than they ever cared to see. It was when they were in camp that they had been invited to drink with the grey soldiers with all the strange accents. Kakarot had taken a drink but immediately spat out the stinging liquid. Vegeta took a swallow too, and held down the fire but had retreated back to their tent and had warn Radditz in Saiyan that he "should not get used that fire water. It makes men stupid."

The warning had fallen on deaf ears. Radditz's habit grew and it did not subside when they had unanimously decided they had enough fighting wars that weren't theirs and it was long past time to go home. But before they could leave the war had suddenly ended. When Freeza went home he discovered his vast plantation decimated; he then decided to go west again. San Antonio was where Freeza fostered the idea of cattle ranching. He had written to his most loyal men back east and invited them to work for him. Then he carved out spot in dry, dusty south Texas along the Rio Grande.

Kakarot had to admit it was fun raiding in to Mexico and bringing back herds of cattle and horses. Trail drives had proven to be fun too. But somewhere along the line they heard wind of a rumored round up of the tribes in the west and it made Vegeta uneasy. That was when they snuck a way in the night but not before looting Freeza of cash and coin and then running his cattle stampeding all though the river valley.

They hit San Antonio to supply and garner news; it was there they learned that the tribes that had been rounded up had been allowed to go home. Then it was back down to Rio Grande and all along until they were in El Paso. According to Vegeta it was only a few more days until they under the watchful eye of Mount Taylor again.

"By the time we get back from rounding up some provisions this fuddled fool should be awake." Vegeta's harsh bark broke Kakarot out of his thoughts. His stomach let out a rumble. Provisions meant food.

"Can we stop for some more that _posole_ at the Cantina?" Kakarot asked. "It was good."

Vegeta eyed him impatiently but did not reply. Kakarot followed him out and down the street to the cluster stores. There they bought coffee, bacon, hard tack and ammunition. The store clerks didn't say much to them and Kakarot felt strange when they eyed he and Vegeta so suspiciously as if expecting them to do something wrong. Kakarot was happy to be out of there and back at the stables helping Vegeta pack items away in their saddle bags.

Radditz groaned from his nest of straw. "I feel like I got kicked dozen times past Sunday by an angry bitch mare and all her relations."

"Serves you right," Vegeta spat.

"Hey, Kakarot, lend me hand."

"Geeze, Radditz," Kakarot said, hoisting his larger older brother up out of the straw. "You smell like a musty old horse blanket that's been dragged through a pig wallow and pissed on by a drunk skunk."

Radditz snorted. "You don't exactly smell like a daisy yourself," he replied. "If it weren't so damned far away I'd have a bath in the Rio Grande."

Vegeta finished packing supplies. He turned to Radditz. "We don't have time for your frivolities. There ought to be enough moonlight out tonight, we should be able to travel easy along said river north. You can wash all your sins off at our next camp."

Radditz grinned, "Speaking of sin, did you manage to set your post in that pretty little piece of calico you were dancing with?"

Vegeta blushed fiercely and so did Kakarot. Poor Kakarot still wasn't used to Radditz's ribald manner of speaking. Vegeta on the other hand blushed because he was reminded and embarrassed by the way he conducted himself last night. With no smart reply on hand Vegeta said nothing and turned to pick up his saddle rig and take it out to where he had earlier hitched the paint.

"I'll take that as a no," Radditz said, "a very unfortunate no."

Kakarot went out to catch his own mount, Radditz trampled after him, and coming up alongside him he nudge Kakarot. "How 'bout you little brother, you get lucky with your little _senorita_?"

Kakarot felt a prickle of annoyance at the too familiar way Radditz inquired about Miss Milk. He could feel his face burning hotter, he was sure it more thanks to anger rather than embarrassment this time. Kakarot shot his older brother a surly look.

"Well shit," Radditz said, "With the way you girls are puttin' on you'd think someone died. Whose funeral are we riding off to?"

"Yours if you don't straighten out," Vegeta snapped. "You know damn well your bullshit isn't going to be tolerated once we get home."

Radditz tied tall bay next to Kakarot's little grey and then dodged in to the barn to retrieve his rig. "I've been thinkin'," he said appearing past the threshold, arms full of saddle, "you might be right about that, Vegeta, I don't think I'm as keen on going back to those badlands as much as you are."

The statement caught Kakarot by surprise and he narrowly missed being nipped by the grey showing her displeasure at being prepared for another journey.

"Well, what do you mean by that, Radditz?" Kakarot asked.

"I mean, we been gone for so long what's the point in going back? What's out there but craggy rocks and sagebrush?"

Vegeta clenched his teeth as tightened the girth. "If you want ride on out that's between you and your kin. I've had to put up with you long enough to learn you lost your sense of pride somewhere around Fredericksburg."

Storm clouds seem rolled over Radditz.

"There he goes about pride again. Vegeta and his shield of Saiyan pride!" Radditz sneered, "Do you know what pride got us? 4 days of marching in the dead of winter from I heard _after_ about 40 old folks, women and children were gunned down in a cave."

Vegeta mounted the paint and drew up close to Radditz. Radditz stood stock still, not flinching. "I gave up expecting you to understand pride a long time ago," Vegeta said, his voice dropping to a tone low and dangerous, "If you want to ride out on your own, then go on and git!"

Vegeta whirled the paint around and trotted off into town.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?"

Kakarot shifted nervously and went back to cinching up his saddle. He looked at Radditz, his black brows drawn up in worry. "You could at least come with us and see if mom and dad are still around." Kakarot said. He pulled himself into the saddle and went after Vegeta leaving Radditz alone with the grey. The horse lifted its tail and proceeded to drop a pile of glistening green.

"Well, hell, you too?"

.

.

When Vegeta walked into the Cantina he saw her sitting too close to a dandified slick with hair too pretty and held in braid with a shining black ribbon. Polished silver conchos around his stiff black hat glinted under the lamplight. All of his clothing was crisp and clean, nary a speck of dust on him but for the bottom of what were certain to be expensive made to order boots; coal-black leather shines to perfection, of course. The dandy stranger leaned in, whispering something into her ear that caused a blush to bloom across the pale apples of her cheeks.

Vegeta's blood ran cold at the sight but soon blazing anger rose up and melted away rational thought and fear. He was left wondering what had happened to the woman who held smiles for only him? He stalked up to pair, his face a mask of ice, his spurs jingling with each heavy step. Though short he moved with the confidence of man a foot and a half taller and twice as wide in the shoulder. Dusty cowhands eyed him warily and less than bold women shrunk away as he neared the bar.

Bulma turned at the jangle of steel and she gasped at the sight of the man she had danced with looking ready to carve the liver out of the man seated next to her. Vegeta had arrived the night before looking surly but today he looked downright dangerous.

"Vegeta," She cooed. Pushing her surprise to the back of her mind, she greeted him with the smile that had won him over last night and reached for his arm. She met a demeanor as indifferent as a frozen saguaro.

"Do you know this, _gentleman_ , my dear?" asked Zarbon, his voice honeyed arsenic.

"Zarbon, this Mr. Vegeta, we had the pleasure of meeting last night." Bulma said, "Would you like a drink Vegeta?"

Vegeta said nothing in reply he just stood seething at Zarbon. He wanted to tell the man to stay away from _his_ woman. _Wait?_ Since when did he start thinking of her as _his?_ Wasn't it her job to dance and flirt with men and draw money out of them like milk from a cow?

"All of the bathwater in the world could never wash away the reek of Freeza from _your_ hide." Vegeta sneered at Zarbon.

Bulma picked up on shift in the air when she realized the two knew each other. She sat up straight and glanced from one to the other. The two looked to be polar opposites, one was an impeccably dressed gambler, and cool in manner while the other looked as if he lived on the back of horse and acted like a man at home among other rough customers and did not seemed to know how to conduct himself with someone softer than the camp cook. From the moment Zarbon had stepped into Rose's confidence and amicability rolled off of him setting everyone around him at ease.

"I think I will have to decline that offer of a dance, my dear," Zarbon apologized to Bulma, his face melting into a look of remorse. "I'm afraid I don't play with anything a filthy Saiyan has touched first.

Bulma gasped. Faster than her astonishment could shift into affront the sound of flesh snapping bone sounded like the crack of a whip and Zarbon was sent flying head over heels right over the bar top. Glass shattered and patrons moved away from the commotion.

Bulma backed away, toward the kitchen door, from which Chichi emerged, shouting, "What's going on in here?"

Vegeta drew his Colt, ready to fire at the first sight of Zarbon. Rather than up and over, Zarbon rushed out from behind the end of the bar, firing off two rounds, haphazardly. Bits of broken glass stuck in his disheveled hair and rivulets of whiskey from shattered bottles ran down his face, blinding him. Under the cover of fire he dashed at Vegeta but Vegeta was ready for him, he reeled back and struck Zarbon with the butt of the Colt. Both went down in a mass of tumbling arms, they scuffled and rolled across the wood floor, each trying to gain purchase.

Zarbon glance two quick blows to Vegeta's jaw. The action only seemed to anger the Saiyan more; he head-butted Zarbon in his already bloodied nose. Zarbon drew back, giving Vegeta the chance to fling Zarbon away. Vegeta rolled over and straddling Zarbon's chest he pelted the taller man with blow after blow. He was deaf to cries of "Stop, stop!" from Bulma.

Chichi chose this moment to rush to her friend and pulled her away toward the kitchen where the rest of the girls had disappeared into.

"Father is out running errands," Chichi said to Bulma, "Otherwise he'd be the only one civil and stout enough to stop this."

Chichi glared at the men gathered round the two on the floor, watching and cheering as if this brawl were just another entertainment provided by the cantina.

"Miss Milk," Kakarot called from the back door. "Are you ok?"

Out in the barroom Vegeta straddled Zarbon but had stopped pummeling him. He moved away from Zarbon and grabbed him up by the shirt front, pulling him close.

"How far out is Freeza?" Vegeta rasped.

Zarbon coughed, choking on blood. "Wouldn't you like to know." Zarbon rattled out a pained chuckled; he tried to scoot back away from Vegeta, his hands on the floor, at his hips.

"God damn it, where?"

Zarbon reached behind his back, drawing a knife he plunged into Vegeta's side. Immediately Vegeta pulled away, bringing up the Colt he still had in hand and fired two shots a Zarbon.

The knife clattered to the floor and Zarbon fell back like a limp sack of beans.

"Oh shit!" Radditz exclaimed from the front door, suddenly looking alert.

Kakarot rushed out from the kitchen fearing the worse, after he had calmed Chichi he convinced her would try his best to help. Bulma had said that Vegeta was fighting with someone. Kakarot had heard the first shots when he stood just outside the back of the Cantina, where he was trying to figure out what to say to the pretty _china poblana_. At the sounds of gun fire he rushed in, worried for her safety.

Kakarot looked at Vegeta, then to the deadman, and then up to Radditz when his brother yelled out that they needed to get the hell out of there.

Vegeta, turned to Kakarot, "Freeza is after us."

Kakarot nodded. Vegeta got up, favoring side, which was damp and warm. People pulled away from him, affording him a path straight to the door. He and Radditz mounted and pulled around the back to where Kakarot had hitched his bay.

In the kitchen Kakarot held Chichi. "We have to go now, but I promise, I'll try to come back as soon as I can."

Chichi embraced him tight and kissed him on the cheek. Kakarot blushed, "As good as you cook I don't think I could stay away too long."

Bulma dashed after Kakarot; she wanted answers. Out in the back of the cantina the other Saiyans waited for Kakarot. Kakarot mounted and the three turned to leave but reined in when they heard Bulma shout.

"What the hell was that all about?" She shouted. "Jealousy is an ugly mask!"

Vegeta looked surprised to see Bulma. He white cavalry gloves were red with Zarbon's blood, his grey coat painted with smears of red and torn here and there. Radditz toss his bandanna to Vegeta and he folded it and then held it at his side, hoping to staunch the wound.

"Don't flatter yourself, woman!" Vegeta snarled. "This wasn't about you."

"Then what the hell was that?" Bulma stamped up to him.

"None of this is your concern, you won't be seeing us around here again. Now go on back inside, we need to light on out here!"

"Which way are you guys going?" Bulma asked, initial anger cooling. She eyed his bloodied side worriedly.

"So you can tell the local law which way to ride?" Vegeta sneered at her.

"No." Bulma said, "so that I can tell them to go the opposite way."

Vegeta's guise of anger faltered. Why would she care to help them?

"I think we ought to cut south into Mexico a spell and come out somewhere down the line." Radditz suggested, attempting to help cut through the tension.

"Then I'll tell anyone that asks you gone east hoping to hit Amarillo and then maybe on to Dodge?" Bulma said, hoping her offer sounded logical.

"I doubt anyone would believe you," Vegeta scoffed, "but I suppose it might help."

Bulma smiled. "Wait right there."

She hurried back inside before Vegeta could object. She came out with lacy handkerchief stuffed into her decolletage, and a bunch of bar rags and a bottle of whiskey. Without invitation she shoved the rags and bottle into one of his saddle bags.

"Take this," she said, pulling the handkerchief from her bosom and handing it Vegeta, "Even if you don't come back, perhaps you'll keep me in memory as I shall you."

Vegeta blushed as he took the frilly gift; he was at a loss for words. Radditz tried to hide a snicker with a cough. Wasn't he supposed to give a gift in return, Vegeta thought, was he supposed to do so even if he didn't intend to return. Did he want to return? Well, hell yeah, he did. After an awkward moment of looking and feeling buffaloed he took off his hat and pulled the pin from the front of it.

"Take this."

Bulma took the pin. It was two arrows crossed arrowheads up, with the letters USS sitting between the points of the arrows.

"I really like that pin," Vegeta said lamely, as he ran his finger through his black spikes before replacing the hat. "It came with the hat, which I found during the war out East. Maybe I might come back for that." Vegeta left out the part where he had plucked the hat off of a dead blue-belly simply because liked the arrows pin. Nor did he mention the teasing he got for wearing a Union hat.

"Then, I shall cherish it and keep it safe." Bulma said, smiling. "Just one more thing, she motioned to him to lean down closer. He did. She planted kiss on his cheek.

"You don't have to return that just yet. I'll wait until you come back."

Without another word the Saiyans rode south.


End file.
